


Turnips

by marchingjaybird



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, post-Revelations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 13:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6007774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchingjaybird/pseuds/marchingjaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sera goes to visit the stables after everyone learns the truth about Thom Rainier</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turnips

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a kind anon who asked for Sera-centric fic on my [Dragon Age blog](thedas-mom.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it, anon!

She found him in the stables, which was where he usually lurked but somehow she’d expected him to be somewhere else after… everything. Inside, maybe. With all the other serious faces, bending over maps and books and hrming and hahing over what to do about Coryphewhatsit or else fussing over elfy things like everyone seemed to be doing lately. Between the Inquisitor and Solas and that new woman, with the dark lips and her tits out, it seemed to be nothing but elfy nonsense in the castle lately.

But he was in the stables, just kind of staring at the little griffon rocking horse he’d been carving, his hands big and empty at his sides. There were imaginary babies dancing in his eyes, babies with his dark eyes and her red hair, and as Sera watched from the door, leaning against rough wood, they all popped like bubbles and he turned away.

“Not gonna finish it?” she asked. He started a little, then relaxed when he saw it was her. A tiny smile curved through his beard, tired and uncertain, and he dismissed his work with the wave of his hand.

“Maybe later,” he said. 

They stood in uneasy silence for a moment, him eyeing the floor, her rolling her eyes up to look at the ceiling. She had lurked in the main hall when Liani had pronounced that he was to join the Wardens - as if anyone had thought she would send her big beardy boyfriend off to the headsman - and though she would have rather heard him pardoned, the Wardens seemed like a fair trade-off. He’d been pretending to be one for so long, he might as well go do it for real.

“So you’re Thom now, yeah?” she said finally, scuffing her foot against the ground. It smelled of horseshit in the stable, warm and thick, and the buzzing of flies was like a background chorus punctuating her words.

“No,” he answered. “Or… I suppose. I’ve always been…” He struggled with the name but Sera didn’t supply it. This was all too serious for her, and there was nowhere to aim her anger, no joke that would lighten the atmosphere. She had tried to be angry with him, for lying and for hurting people, but the hangdog expression on his face had dissolved what little ire she’d managed to summon and she figured if old elfy Inky herself could forgive him for letting her shout another man’s name while he put it to her, Sera didn’t have much cause to hold a grudge.

Besides, he was sorry. Anyone could see that he was sorry.

“It was good for a while, eh?” he finished slowly. His fingers curled into fists, then slowly flicked back out. He still wouldn’t look at her. “Being him. Forgetting what I’d done. But a man can’t keep a secret forever.”

“Bollocks,” Sera said. He looked up, surprised at her vehemence. “You weren’t him, you were always you. Names don’t mean you aren’t you, and you’ve got the black--” and she gestured to his hair, his clothes, his dark eyes “--and you’re a wall when you want, right?” She mimed holding up a sword and shield, crouching the way he did when he stepped in front of her to head off a templar that was coming to slice her into ribbons, and then she would jump and fire over his shoulder and they would move on because they were a _team_ , they were _friends_.

Her hands and lips shook a little and she was furious with herself. Bad enough this place was full of nobles, like Dorian and Vivienne, and frickin’ elves, like Solas and Liani her-glowy-self, but now Blackwall, good old solid common-as-dirt Blackwall, who tried to help the helpless and laughed at her jokes and who had once helped her steal all of the turnips from the kitchens so they wouldn’t have to eat them anymore - now that man was beaten down and acting like his name even meant anything, like a man’s name could do good on its own.

“I suppose I am that,” he answered, staring at her like she’d just said something profound. “It’s more a title than a name that way, eh? Not so bad.”

Sera wrinkled her nose and made a fart noise at him. “If you say so, Beardy.” But she was happy to see a little spark back in his eyes and they both knew it and when he came over to give her a little arm squeeze like he did sometimes when they’d killed something spectacularly well, she threw her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. It was like embracing a pile of bricks - ha haaaa, no wonder Liani liked him so much, gross! - and after a moment’s hesitation he folded her up in a big bear hug and she thought maybe that was good, that he knew at least that _she_ didn’t care what his name really was, she just cared who was on the inside.

“I needed that,” he said, ruffling her hair when she stepped back. “Thank you, Sera.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she answered, shoving his hand away. But she smiled when she did it, and he smiled back, and it was all normal.

“Wanna go throw rotten turnips off the ramparts?” she asked, beaming up at him. He pretended to think for a moment, then nodded.

“Yes,” he said gravely. “I’d like that very much.”

Sera led the way, chattering gaily as they went. “I let em get nice and soft, and Dorian and Cullen are playing chess in the courtyard. Bet I can hit them before you can!” 

“I’ll take that bet,” he agreed. “Loser has to stay and listen to Bull next time he goes on about Dorian so the winner can get away.”

Sera stared in awed appreciation. “That’s _evil_ , that is,” she said. Blackwall’s big hand fell on her shoulder, companionable, like the big, scruffy brother she never had.

“No, my dear,” he declared. “ _That_ is incentive.”

And everything was good again.


End file.
